


Here In My Own Skin (I Can Finally Begin)

by synchronicities



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Foursome - F/F/M/M, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Sedoretu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 07:01:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11846388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synchronicities/pseuds/synchronicities
Summary: “They’re Mornings, Wells and Clarke, glued at the hip since they could walk,” Raven tells him after Wells leaves. She’s still staring at the door.“You want in on that?” he asks. “You’ll just be short another Evening, then you can make it official.”--Bellamy, Wells, Raven, and Clarke make up a sedoretu. That's it, really.





	Here In My Own Skin (I Can Finally Begin)

**Author's Note:**

> I haven’t written t100 fic in 2 years but I really wanted to try writing a sedoretu so here’s the Core 4 We Deserved in one. 
> 
> What’s a sedoretu, you ask?
> 
> _“Sedoretu is a poly marriage arrangement invented by Ursula K. Le Guin in her science fiction story "A Fisherman of the Inland Sea". Ki'O society is divided into two halves or moieties, called (for ancient religious reasons) the Morning and the Evening. You belong to your mother's moiety, and you can't have sex with anybody of your moiety. Marriage on O is a foursome, the sedoretu — a man and a woman from the Morning moiety and a man and a woman from the Evening moiety. You're expected to have sex with both your spouses of the other moiety, and not to have sex with your spouse of your own moiety. So each sedoretu has two expected heterosexual relationships, two expected homosexual relationships, and two forbidden heterosexual relationships._
> 
> _The expected relationships within each sedoretu are:_  
>  _The Morning woman and the Evening man (the "Morning marriage")_  
>  _The Evening woman and the Morning man (the "Evening marriage")_  
>  _The Morning woman and the Evening woman (the "Day marriage")_  
>  _The Morning man and the Evening man (the "Night marriage")_  
>  _The forbidden relationships are between the Morning woman and the Morning man, and between the Evening woman and the Evening man, and they aren't called anything, except sacrilege.” ___
> 
> In this fic, Bellamy and Raven are Evenings and Wells and Clarke are mornings. Also there is almost no plot.

This is how it starts: Bellamy sleeps with Raven. He finds out she’s an Evening like him before her shirt is off, but she just rolls her eyes – “Do you care?” she snarls, taking off her bra in one fluid motion. He looks at her, righteous anger rolling under her skin, her gaze defiant. Later, he’ll find out what happened – an old sweetheart, a Morning, had come knocking with promises of a foreign marriage for the two of them, only to already have a sedoretu of his own that he was bored with, and he’ll be angry on her behalf. But now –

“I don’t,” he says truthfully, and that’s the end of that. She gives him her number afterwards, tells him to call her if he’s ever bored. He tries not to though; _he_ might not care that they’re both Evenings, but society will.

And then Raven meets Wells and Clarke in an art class. Bellamy thinks the two of them are ridiculous – they have matching private-school smiles and the easy grace that comes with never having wanted for anything growing up. He learns their mothers are high-ranking Mornings; Clarke herself is the state governor’s daughter. Raven falls in love with Wells first over cars and coffee, swoons over his gentle hands and wit that matches her own. She kisses him in the coffee shop when Bellamy’s on duty, soft and sweet, and neither of them can tear their gazes away from each other afterwards.

“They’re Mornings, Wells and Clarke, glued at the hip since they could walk,” Raven tells him after Wells leaves. She’s still staring at the door.

“You want in on that?” he asks. “You’ll just be short another Evening, then you can make it official.”

“I – hmm.” Raven looks contemplative, but there’s no ignoring the hopeful lilt in her voice. “I don’t know. It’s really new, and I haven’t tried it with Clarke, or both of them, but…”

(That’s a pretty image, isn’t it? Clarke in the middle, blonde hair gleaming between Wells’s and Raven’s dark, attentive heads, and –

– he doesn’t _care_.)

“You’ll have to learn how to stick your pinky out when you drink tea, real ladylike,” he says instead.

She snorts. “Don’t be an ass, Bell.”

Wells is – Wells is _good_ ; Bellamy has to admit that much. He learns about the other man from short counter conversations and brief talks when they run into each other on campus, from Raven’s anecdotes and the collegiate news – Wells is something of a celebrity on campus, after all, with a father like Senator Jaha and Governor Griffin for a godmother, and he lives up to his name, joining a bunch of do-gooder organizations and raising the local debate team to new heights. He’ll be good for Raven, and if Bellamy sometimes entertains thoughts of how handsome Wells is, well, she doesn’t have to know.

It’s Clarke he any sort of problem with. Clarke, who is whip-smart and feisty in a way that complements Raven, but with strong morals that complement Wells. Clarke who, at their first meeting, had raised her eyebrow at him and asked why he had such a big chip on his shoulder, who sniped with him at every turn despite Raven and Wells’s best efforts. Clarke, who is intelligent and beautiful and funny, who can’t seem to stop fighting with him.

“You don’t actually hate Clarke,” Raven says, frowning at him. “You’re just mad someone else is calling you out on your ego. Besides me and O.”

He ignores it, even as the truth gnaws at him – that he riles her up in part to see her angry stare, hear the biting tone of her voice – and who is he to question the fact that she gives as good as she gets? “You try it with them yet?”

“With Clarke, yeah,” Raven says, blushing prettily. “I want you – I want you to get along with her, Bell, please?”

“For you,” he grumbles, pushing the image of Raven and Clarke together out of his mind, and that’s the beginning of it, really – Raven starts showing up to group outings with holding hands with one or both of them, leans into their touches, dances with them both at the bar. He gets to know Wells, talks about how he’s not going to go into politics like his dad but law for the underprivileged, and gets to know Clarke, learns about changing her pre-med major to art therapy, and studiously ignores how part of him wants to fuck them until they pass out. Clarke and Wells don’t seem to care, and cling to him whenever they’re not with Raven – her leaning over tables when she talks to him as he tries not to look at her tits, him brushing his sturdy arms against Bellamy's when he passes by. Raven just grins at him knowingly.

So he should have seen the invitation for what it was, really – dinner at Wells’s place to celebrate the end of finals. Bellamy helps Wells cook, because the girls are _hopeless_ in the kitchen, and tries to ignore how good he is with his hands, how his muscles move as he works, how soft –

“I brought wine!” he hears Clarke say from the door. “Hey, Raven, Wells,” she greets, kissing them both on the cheek. He wonders if he’s imagining her smile softening when she looks at him. “Hey, Bellamy.”

“Princess,” he says, lip curling up instinctively at the sight of her. She grins back at him.

There really is a lot of wine – Bellamy silently thanks Governor Griffin for her fine stores, and before he knows it the plates are stacked in the sink, leftover food put away, and he’s on the couch next to Wells, Clarke and Raven on the floor next to each other, all of them laughing uproariously at a story Clarke tells about her philosophy professor. It’s a perfect mood, all of them full, happy, and wine-tipsy, Raven’s hand tracing circles over Clarke’s skin, Clarke leaning against Wells’s knee with easy familiarity, Bellamy watching, cataloguing.

“We should talk about this, huh,” Raven says when the laughter dies down, tucking a strand of hair behind Clarke’s ear. Wells makes an affirming noise.

“Talk about what?” Bellamy asks. The other three quiet. Something changes in the air, charged and heavy, and–

“I – You see–” Clarke’s blushing prettily from her seat on the floor, red splotches blooming from her cheeks to her shoulders, and Bellamy wants to kiss her all over. “Raven says you–”

“This,” says Wells.

And then Wells leans in and kisses him, long and drawn-out. Bellamy can’t help it; once he gets over the shock he leans into the kiss, into Wells’s firm, warm grip on his torso, his own hands coming up to cup Wells’s face. Wells licks into his mouth and Bellamy tastes the dizzying sweetness of the wine, hauls him closer so that the other man is sprawled over him, hands braced on the couch by Bellamy’s head.

Bellamy pulls away, breathless, meets Clarke’s gaze over Wells’s shoulder. She and Raven are watching them with a furious sort of interest, and her stare is burning as she locks eyes with him. The realization of what this _is_ hits him, suddenly – _You’ll just be short another Evening,_ he’d told Raven long ago, and any panic that rises is swallowed by Wells’s mouth, because _yes, this feels right_.

“Good?” Wells asks, his breath tickling Bellamy’s cheek. The low rasp of his voice after just one kiss makes his toes curl, and Bellamy _knows_ that he’s not asking about the here and now, he’s asking for the foreseeable future, and hopefully, more than that. He’s asking – _do you want this_ , he’s saying – _the three of us, we’re here, come._

“Good,” Bellamy replies, with no hesitation.

Wells angles his head, looks behind them. “Clarke?” he murmurs, and Raven’s mouth stops trailing feather-light kisses down Clarke’s throat. The sight’s too much, and Bellamy tears his gaze away, looks Wells back in the eye, nods. Wordlessly, Wells removes himself from his lap and moves towards Raven, who’s migrated to the couch along with Clarke.

“Hey,” Wells greets, kissing them both on the cheek. The touch of him makes Raven close her eyes, smile brilliant and bright.

Clarke moves to sit next to Bellamy. He turns towards her. “Hey,” he repeats, hand coming up to her shoulder on impulse. “You all right?”

She gives him a little smile, swallows. “Better now that I can do this,” she murmurs, climbing into his lap. Her lips descend on his, and they’re both smiling too much for this kiss to be anything but messy and sloppy at first. Then they establish a rhythm, push and pull, Bellamy’s hands carding through her hair, Clarke’s rough fingers dragging across his cheek, his jaw, his neck, her hips grinding down on his slowly, almost lazily, her chest occasionally pressing against his.

“You all right there?” Raven calls. Clarke pulls away, and she’s the most gorgeous Bellamy’s ever seen her, lips kiss-swollen and hair mussed. The flush across her face has only since deepened, and Bellamy indulges himself, presses light twin kisses on the apples on her cheeks. She smiles.

Raven comes over and kisses Clarke sweetly, her hand slipping under Clarke’s shirt, and the thought of Raven tasting his lips through Clarke gets him hotter than it should. Clarke’s shirt comes off, then her bra, and she moans deep and low when Raven noses her breasts, takes one nipple in her mouth, thumb working furiously against the other.

“They’re quite the sight, aren’t they?” Wells says, his low voice interrupting the haze Bellamy hadn’t even known he was in as he watched them. But Wells, now sans shirt courtesy of Raven, is beautiful too, and and –

“C’mere,” Bellamy says, and with a few brief motions Wells’s lips are on his again, and somehow Bellamy gets his belt off, then his pants, and he’s palming Wells’s cock roughly through his underwear, resulting in a deep groan from the other man.

“You – pants–” Wells gasps, and Bellamy obliges. Wells fumbles with his button and zipper, breaking their kiss to laugh, embarrassed. It’s ridiculously endearing, and Bellamy raises his hips off the couch so Wells can slide them off. Now there are only two layers of clothing separating them, and he feels it in Wells’s moans as he ruts against Bellamy, in the rough drag of his underwear against Bellamy’s own. “Bella – Bellamy,” Wells gets out as Bellamy works on leaving kisses down his neck, his shoulders, everywhere his lips can reach, his hands roaming across the hard planes of Wells’s chest. “What do you – what do you want to do?”

And the answer comes so easily to him, with the memory of Raven’s throaty moans, of Clarke’s small hands, Wells’s soft kisses. “I want to–” he leaves a kiss on Wells’s sternum. “I want to make you feel good. All of you.”

“That so?” Wells’s hands slide to the band of Bellamy’s underwear, and he lifts his hips without thinking, his cock rising up rock-hard between them.

“Yeah,” Bellamy says, breathless as Wells’s hand wraps around him, and he moans again as he gives Bellamy an experimental tug, then two. “Yeah, yeah. You’d look so hot, Wells – you want me to fuck you? While you fuck Raven? Fucking beautiful, that’s what it would be.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Wells hisses, his grip stalling, and Bellamy almost whimpers, his hips rising involuntarily. “Should’ve known you’d have quite the mouth on you,” he teases, pulling away.

“Fuck,” Clarke whines from beside them. Her brow furrows. “Night and Evening. What a sight, huh, Rae?”

“You’d like that, Rae?” Wells murmurs, leaning over Bellamy to leave careful kisses on Raven’s face. Me fucking you, then Bell fucking me? You’d feel _everything_ , Rae, it’ll be so good.”

“And where would our princess be in that situation?” Raven teases, hands cupping Clarke’s beautiful tits again, and something flares deep in Bellamy at her words. “You know Clarke hates being left out.”

She scrunches up her face, deep in thought. “I’d watch,” she murmurs finally. Then her gaze locks on Bellamy again. “Then I’d ride Bellamy’s face afterwards.”

Bellamy nearly chokes. “ _Jesus_ ,” he gets out, reaching for her. Their second kiss is easier, but Clarke’s still smiling embarrassingly wide, her hardened nipples dragging across his chest. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweet girl?” he continues, the words spilling out easy as anything. “Bein’ so patient for all of us, then riding my face as a reward–” Clarke’s breath hitches, _interesting_ –“And the others all over you too, huh? What a fucking sight, indeed.”

“I’d - I'd ride your face,” Clarke repeats, voice hitching, fingers scrambling around his cock, “Then Wells would suck you off, me and Raven would–”

“If that’s the plan,” Wells interrupts kindly before Bellamy’s brain explodes. His fingers are intertwined with Raven’s, he looks so happy it’s breathtaking, “My bed’s a lot more comfortable with than this couch.”

Clarke laughs softly, takes Bellamy’s own hand in hers. He looks around him, Raven, beaming, Clarke, shy, Wells, smiling proudly like he knew this would happen all along. (He probably did, the bastard.)

This is how it starts: Bellamy wakes up in the middle of Wells’s giant bed, sunlight streaming through the pristine curtains and bathing them in lovely morning light. Clarke’s head is on his chest, Wells’s arm is thrown across his waist, Raven’s arms are wrapped around Clarke’s torso, and Bellamy feels beginnings singing in his bones.

**Author's Note:**

> feed me comments & kudos!


End file.
